


A Place in the World

by missema



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Affianced, Aldmeri Dominion, Anger, Angst, Broken Engagement, Exile, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love, Love/Hate, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kmeme prompt for an Altmer DB who had previously been in a relationship with the Thalmor Commander Ondolemar, found in Markarth.  When they were living on the Summerset Isles,  the Dragonborn was exiled for speaking against the Thalmor, winding up in Skyrim.  Ondolemar hears rumors of the Dragonborn, but doubts them, not expecting to ever find her, or that she is his former fiancé.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Memories

There were some days when he felt like the world was mocking him.  Ondolemar stretched, the early morning sunlight streaming through his window.  He had hours before he had to get up, much too much time to himself and not enough to do all that he wanted to do before he left Alinor, the capital of his homeland and the seat of power for the Aldmeri Dominion.

The women in bed next to him made a slight snuffle as she rolled over, and he ignored her, pushing her body away from him as she curled closer, seeking out his warmth.  She was a way to distract himself and in that she had served her purpose.  Rising from the bed, he strode over to the window, opening it and letting the air cool his sleep-warmed flesh.  The last vestiges of the sunrise were just fading from view, twinkling on the glass spires and breaking on the crystal buildings, all the colors warm and tinged with red as the sun grew higher in the sky, but Ondolemar just sighed at the sight.  Try as he might, dawn always reminded him of the past, an ironic thought for the bringer of the new day.

"Come, Ondolemar.  It's a beautiful night for mischief."  In his memories, he could hear Trina beckoning him, dragging him away from what he knew, begging him to join her and be wild. 

Trina.  They'd danced together from sundown to sunup, drank too much of the fine wine he preferred and laughed too loudly, kissing on a rock as the sea lapped at their bare feet.  He remembered her lips, soft and plump, yielding to his inexpert kisses, the gentle way she'd guided him as he learned what she liked.  Trina.  His bride, she who'd stood beneath his window at night, throwing stones at the glass panes until she got his attention, demanding that he put off his studies and sleep to spend time with her.  The memory of her kisses still made him weak, even as recollections.  In the springtime the scent of lavender on the air brought out melancholy in him as he recalled how she'd scented her hair with oil distilled from the herb.  Though their pairing had been arranged, they'd fallen in love, he saying that she'd bewitched him.  In truth, she had been just as crazy about him, both of them losing their heads as well as their hearts.

She was the daughter of two prominent artists, both revered throughout the Summerset Isles for their works.  Though they'd always hoped that she would follow in their footsteps, but she'd never been able to settle on a medium, finding them all to her liking.  Trina sang like a chorus of birds at dawn, danced with grace and painted and sculpted, learning at the heels of her parents.  In their society artists were amongst the top level of society, and she came from some of the best lineages combined.  He'd felt so lucky to be paired with her, and luckier still when he'd actually liked the girl after their first meeting.

With every thought of her, he knew pain, hurt that blossomed deep within the well of his chest and moved up until it suffocated him and had had to gasp for breath.  A deep hole that never lessened, no matter how much time passed or what he did to try and put it behind him.  He'd loved her in every sense, but when they came to take her away he was forced to renounce her, or watch his family be executed.  Ondolemar served the Thalmor, and that service could not be forsworn, not even after he watched his bride be taken away in shackles.  Watching the scene, knowing the agents that came to get her, the ones that later congratulated him on his loyalty to the Dominion, it had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

It was the only time she'd ever been truly silent, no smile lighting her eyes, no laughter coloring her cheeks, it was as if the life had been suddenly and irrevocably drained from her.  When they read the charges and shackled her, she submitted meekly, only calling out her love and a goodbye to the people that she loved.  She never said sorry for shaming them, never protested or proclaimed her innocence as he would have done.  There were no tears etching trails down her golden face, but just her, lost to him forever.

Her parents later disowned her, but by that time, Ondolemar had stopped contact with them.  He never knew if they were forced to, or if they truly wanted to sever the connection between them and their daughter.  Word got to him that they'd had another child later on, a son.  With their long lives, elves were fertile throughout many years, and it was nothing to have another child once another was grown.  That family was no more of his concern once Trina was gone.

She was exiled to the mainland of Tamriel, as they did with most of the prisoners they didn't execute, and even getting that decision had been a stretch, considering her crimes.  In his mind, it was almost worse, he saw no point in living amongst the savages, outside of the beauty of what the Mer had created.  He shuddered, thinking of how he was to go there soon, to leave all he knew behind and root out worshipers of the false man-god Talos.  At least the city he was to station himself in, Markarth, was of Dwemer construct and not that of men.  He had enough to worry about without adding his doubts about human construction to the list.

He turned back to his bed and away from the mocking morning sun.  With a lazy hand drifting up her pale, golden skin, he woke the woman in his bed, who responded eagerly to his touch.  If he couldn't have love, he could at least satisfy his body, and with her sloppy, sleepy kiss he let himself go numb, trying not to wish that it was Trina beneath his hands, succumbing to his kisses with soft moans.


	2. Upon Arrival

The sight of Markarth's golden entrance didn't impress him at all, nor did the city rising in jagged stumps out from behind the worn walls. The first words that formed in his mind were craggy, wretched and old, describing the citizenry as well as the buildings. Ondolemar shuddered, wondering if this was really where he was supposed to live indefinitely as a Commander. In his mind's eye, he had pictured a new level of excessive luxury coming with his promotion up the ranks, the kind he saw in Alinor, admirers in the lower ranks bearing gifts as he sipped aged wine from crystal goblets adorned with a new crest that only he would ever have. Instead he was in the frozen tundras and wild forests of Skyrim, hay and furs, grass and dirt, so far from civilization it made his head ache to think about it.

He longed to be back where amongst what he knew, where life was comfortable, if a little constricting at times. The Thalmor granted him much in return for his loyal service; women, wine, opulent houses decorated with expensive art, old books as gifts for his dedication. There was always the finest of whatever he desired, but much was demanded in return, so much that he rarely got to enjoy the spoils of his dedication. His sacrifice with Trina had been expected, required of him under law, and he would be obligated to do the same with anyone he encountered that may be a determent to the Dominion. No one was above scrutiny, and he knew that the servants in his home reported on his activities to his superiors. Ondolemar lived life in a gilded glass cage, above reproach at all times, putting the Aldmeri Dominion first.

In the days leading up to his departure from the Summerset Isles, thoughts of Trina infested his mind. A deluge of guilt ravaged him whenever he thought of her, with a niggling of pity creeping in, as he wondered where he life had taken her in the years since her forced departure. Life couldn't have been easy for his former affianced, but he was ignorant of much of the ways outside of Alinor and his duties, and unable fathom how she'd survived. He didn't have the faintest clue as to where she could be, Tamriel was huge, and there were many places to hide or disappear, start a new life. Though he'd wanted to, he hadn't tried to trace her, knowing the Aldmeri Dominion would see it as collusion and assign him her fate as well. There was no way that he was strong enough to endure what she'd been through.

"I am Commander Ondolemar from the Thalmor, and I must be taken to your Jarl immediately." Ondolemar turned to the first guard he saw, and spoke the order, leaving no room for questions.

"Right away. The Jarl is at Understone Keep, built into the mountain." The frightened woman complied immediately, no doubt cowed by the full compliment of guards and justiciars that accompanied him on his journey. Sadly, most would be leaving either back home or to be dispatched to other places in Skyrim, only occasionally coming back to Markarth to report in. He would miss seeing the familiar faces of Mer, being around his own kind.

"Built into the mountain? How quaint." Ondolemar drawled the comment warping it into a scathing rebuke, more effective than sneering at the human woman, who cringed from his barbed words. It would please him greatly if there were no further attempts to make pointless smalltalk to them. She led them up a labyrinth of crumbling stone steps, turning first left and then right, lifting them higher into the sky with each step forward.

The streets hushed as they walked through, and even the other guards didn't dare speak as he swept by, intimidating them into silence with his mere presence. He was glad to have the hood of his Thalmor robe pulled high onto his head, so they couldn't gaze upon his face. The Thalmor didn't want to have a face, didn't need personal avatars, but sought to be the embodiment of the force of the Altmer, a mass of elves. As he walked up what felt like the sixth or seventh set of crumbling stone stairs, Ondolemar felt a surge of resentment at this post. _Skyrim_ , of all the places he could have been assigned, he'd been sent to the heathen Nords when even Cyrodiil would have been more palatable.

#####

Trina let her long legs take her as quickly down the road to Whiterun as she could manage, the wind whipping her strawberry blond hair away from her face, letting it flow out behind her like a windsock. Sprinting away from Riverwood as if she could leave behind her memories of the last few days with it, she fled, worry eating away at her. All she ever did was run, moving from one place to the other, trying to eek out a life as she stayed under the out of sight, working to subvert the Thalmor.

The Thalmor; even just thinking the name made bitterness swirl poisonously through her veins, so potent it threatened to slow her speedy pace. They'd ruined her life, her homeland, and waged war on the Empire with no cause other than racism, their offense at the victories of Tiber Septim. The more she traveled, the more she despised the philosophies that had once defined her life. At the very beginning of the war with the Empire, she'd been charged with treason for an act she hadn't even thought to be rebellious. They'd painted her a traitor for questioning the Thalmor's intent, wondering aloud if they should even be engaging in the war, for what was there to gain by conquering the men instead of living alongside them? One simple question, and she had been cast out of her life as if she had been supplying information to the other side. They'd trapped her not soon after she'd voiced the question, soldiers waiting at Ondolemar's family estate, at the place they knew she'd come eventually, to see her beloved.

Once she'd effectively become dead to everyone she'd ever known, she did all she could to help the first the Empire, then the Redguards fight the Aldmeri Dominion. Her name had been stricken from the records of the Altmer, as if she'd never existed in the eyes of the Thalmor. Dying in such a way had freed her, by losing everything in her life, she was able to aid those who fought against the Dominion she'd once considered herself lucky to live under.

She'd become a bard, training in how to fight with swords and using her natural abilities to sing and charm crowds for coin when she wasn't playing the soldier. Generations of Altmer breeding contracts worked in her favor and she had the innate ability to weave complex spells, to heal on the battlefield and kill even after she'd been disarmed. Life had been harsh and uncompromising, but she didn't regret her expulsion, preferring to think of it as her awakening. She'd become a warrior, a champion of sorts, and got war paint to fit her new identity. What had once been unfathomable to her, sitting the palatial estate of her youth, became reality that she celebrated with decoration, curls around her acute amber eyes, blessed by sight after never being used in her life before.

Life as a cosseted wife of a Thalmor agent would never have suited her; she'd always liked adventure too much. Trina disregarded what people thought of her, engaged in behaviors that had more than once earned her a rebuke from her parents and shocked her staid fiancé, Ondolemar. Trina forced herself to concentrate on the flowers and plants she was passing instead of letting him intrude into her mind. Thinking of him would only upset her, and she didn't need to be more agitated as she traveled the roads.

"I need to see the Jarl. I was at Helgen and have been sent to ask for aid for Riverwood." Trina puffed wearily at the Dunmer housecarl who blocked her path, sweat dripping down her face as she stopped just short of the throne of Whiterun. She hadn't been in Skyrim for long, but she hated to see the scant population threatened by both civil war and ancient dragons. They needed to be warned, to be made to understand exactly what a threat the Aldmeri Dominion was.

They needed to prepare for the war she knew would be coming again. The Aldmeri were nothing if not patient, and would be content to let these men kill themselves for a few generations, then sweep back in as conquerors. If she could live that long, she'd not let that happen. Defender of Man was not her chosen occupation, but it had chosen her as if it had been forecast at her birth, dooming her to be different in a society that tried to stamp out individuality at every pass.


	3. The Dragonborn

Skyrim was a vast land, stretches of it unconquered and wild, the only sign of civilization the roads that had been set down to ease the trail between villages, and even those were worn and old.  It felt free, unrestrained, and she could understand why the Nords were known as a proud race of hearty people.  Their very nature reflected their land, tough and enduring, yet at the core possessing a wild beauty of spirit that couldn't be dampened.  Trina loved Skyrim from her first sight of it, loved the flowers and the dirt, the silence as she ventured along the roads.  Most people, even the Nords that lived there didn't know the power hidden in the land, but she could feel it, a secret that throbbed beneath her feet as she explored.  Dragons and Dragonborns had long been part of their history, and Trina knew that it was only in Skyrim could she learn all she needed to know about her true nature.  
  
Though compared to most of the Altmeri, she hadn't lived many years, Trina had a few moments she would never forget.  Absorbing the strength and soul of the slain dragon had to be chief amongst them, topping even her exile from her homeland.  It had been a heady, overwhelming rush that threatened to burn out her senses and nearly knocked her over.  The Greybeards loud, quaking call afterwards could have only been meant for her, she felt the pull towards them.  Skyrim wanted her to stay, and the Jarl of Whiterun offered her a place in his court, an honor that she'd never expected from a human.  
  
It seemed she would have time to get to know her new home well, especially once she entered the Companions's mead hall, Jorrvaskr with the intent to join.  As she entered, she looked around the room to see two people in a fist fight she assumed was sparring, and a whole host of others watching them, cheering them on.  When she'd first run into the small group outside of Whiterun, fighting a giant, she hadn't quite understood their group, and upon seeing them in their hall, she'd become even more confused.  Confused, but intrigued by the people she encountered as she ventured through the building, nearly tripping over warrior after warrior, a tough and courageous lot.  
  
"Come on, let's see what you can do."  Vilkas beckoned to her in the courtyard, and she restrained herself, knowing that he wouldn't thank her for using magic.  Instead she used the dagger she kept on her at all times, relying on her speed to help her get around his armored brawn.  The Nord was skeptical of her after she'd asked Kodlak to join their ranks, and it showed in the way he held himself.  He wasn't going to make it easy.  
  
"Alright."  Trina agreed readily, because the man was hungry for a fight, to test her, and didn't think she would pass.  They always underestimated her, not realizing she had a century of honing her magic before they'd even been born, and decades learning to fight with other weapons.  
  
In the years since she'd left her home, she'd never thought to find a place like this, a group of people that could become more than friends, something stronger than the bonds of family.  When Vilkas reluctantly gave in, admitting that she fought well, a sense of pride welled within her.  It felt as if she meant to dwell within the walls of Jorrvaskr, a sense of rightness so lost to her that it felt alien at first.  She'd met people and fought alongside brave souls whom she would never forget, not in this life or the next, but to have a sense of belonging, that was the thing that had eluded her.  
  
"I look forward to hunting with you."  Aela said to her as she left.  It was strange to hear, someone looking forward to her return, to planning things in the future.  
  
She liked this group, she even liked Njada, who spent her time scoffing at Trina.  It wouldn't have been a true family without a little sibling rivalry.  She was almost sad to leave the town, but she had to know more about this dormant power that she'd been hiding all her life.  Dragonborn seemed almost as much of a curse as it was an honor.  
  
 Her time in Whiterun was not what she'd expected of it, when she first came running into the town.  When she left, she left as a noble, a Thane, who had the ear of the Jarl and a place in court.  Within the Companions, she'd found a place, a family of sorts amongst the warriors.  It was a welcome, at least her place at Jorrvaskr, but the Thane part, she didn't understand, didn't know anything outside of the politics and life she'd left behind in Alinor.

And there was the slight matter of being Dragonborn.  Her blood sang as she absorbed the knowledge of the slain creature, and she wondered why her, after all her years of life, why now?

It had been thirty-four years since her exile to the mainland of Tamriel.  She'd been so young, her marriage negotiations had begun when she was just over the century mark, around her 119th birthday, though Ondolemar was a few decades older than she.  He was still young too, and had another ten or fifteen years of training to do before he could advance in the Thalmor.  Their engagement had spanned fourteen years of negotiations between the families before they were in agreement about the terms, and she'd loved the time she got to spend with him.  There were parties and rituals, meetings and prayer services to the gods, but mostly, it had been her and him, alone while their parents bartered and bickered with each other.

It had been magnificent, being with him, falling in love.  Of all the things in her past, she'd missed their heady, intense first love the most.  It kept her warm when she was shivering in some wayside inn, but had to be pushed aside when she met a new lover.  In Hammerfell, she'd met another man, a Redguard who started to help her heart heal, but died when the Thalmor's army came ashore, and she realized then that relationships were too difficult, too dangerous for her.  There had been no family until the Companions, no ties until she came to Whiterun, no reason to think she was anything other than another elf outside the Dominion until she'd killed that dragon and took the very energy that resided within it.

All of the life in her past, and here she was still learning about herself.


	4. Rumors

Markarth was a strange city to Ondolemar, always in a perpetual state of ruin, the wicked allowed to flourish simply because others were too cowardly to challenge them. If the Thalmor had been in charge, as they should have been, the Silver-Blood family would rot in prison, not run it for their own profit. For such a sparse land, the people congregated into strange tribal groups where the strongest exploited the poorest, though they could have lived anywhere, gone to a more hospitable community or lived alone. It befuddled him to think too deeply about it, so he didn't trouble himself.

He couldn't rightly say that he liked the city, nothing would ever compare to the delicate crystal spires of Alinor, but he admired the work of the Dwemer. Looking up at the stonework surrounding the waterfalls in front of the Jarl's Keep always filled him with a sense of appreciation for such stonecraft and the ability to harness the natural beauty of water. It was captivating in a primitive way, especially when caught in the early morning light. Most of the time, the air was filled with the thick smoke from the smelters, obscuring even the nearby peaks from view. The stench of iron flowed from the water, the whole of the city like a fetid belch when it reached the peak of midday. He was glad that his duties kept him indoors for the most part.

There much he had to do, First Emissary Elenwen wrote to him several times a week, her orders coming by trusted Thalmor couriers. The scribbled commands ensuring that he was kept busy commanding their loyal officers out in the Reach. She had been most pleased when he'd reported a raid on a Stormcloak camp nearby, his troops had been able to arrest many proud worshipers of Talos. Their defiance in readily admitting their crime made it easier to cart them off to the hidden detention cells that once housed Imperial troops, for they could not protest their innocence. The Thalmor had commandeered many such sites upon their arrival in Skyrim, anticipating the need for facilities to house many heretics.

Word traveled fastest amongst the ranks of the guardsmen, as Ondolemar learned quickly during his stay in Markarth. He could listen to them for a week and have amassed more information about Skyrim than he could have gotten from any book, and what he was hearing was interesting indeed. While he doubted the veracity of the claims, he didn't doubt the sincerity, the guards who repeated the words believed them through and through.

There was an Altmer made Thane in two Holds, surprising, to say the least, given that the Nords were fond of shouting about how Skyrim was their land. In one, Hjaalmarch, this mysterious elven woman had cleared a nest of vampires plaguing the town. It was the tales of the other, her deeds in Whiterun that interested him more. There, if the stories were to be believed, she defeated a dragon with the help of the guards, and then absorbed the power and spoke in their tongue. Ondolemar was hard-pressed to believe it, but he heard the stories repeated so many times, he felt honor-bound to investigate their merit.

The Dragon Tongue was what had given Tiber Septim his powers, and ultimately his ability to amass a force great enough to challenge the Mer. Supposedly, his line had died out during the Oblivion Crisis, before the Thalmor could solve it. Ondolemar was only 202 years old, and hadn't been around for those dealings, all of his knowledge coming from the Thalmor he served proudly. But a new Dragonborn in Skyrim was something that would give his order some pause, if in fact this wasn't all just nonsense.

"You, you there." He swept across the dirty stone of the Keep, addressing the first guard he saw. "Tell me what you know of the Dragonborn."  


"Tiber Septim?" The man asked in a meek voice, afraid of being spoken to directly by a Thalmor agent. "Do you wish to know of Tal- of the Emperor?"

"Talos worship is banned." Ondolemar said, reverting to his official tone. "And you would do well to remember that. But I have heard tales of another with the dragon blood, and that is to whom I am referring."

"Oh, right." The man said sheepishly. "Well, it's all just rumors." He was unwilling to talk to Ondolemar, not just because of the rebuke, but because of the Thalmor robes that the man was eying suspiciously, taking in everything and shaking his helmeted head in a slight refusal to speak.

"Now, now, we are friends. Your Jarl is a friend of mine, and there is no reason we cannot be civil." Ondolemar started, his tone silky. "I was merely curious because they say the Dragonborn is an elf, and I wanted to hear more."

The man's shoulders visibly relaxed, taken in by the change in Ondolemar's tone. "Well, sir, I just know what we been told by the other guards. In letters and things, you know. There's a woman, elven like you said, and she was summoned by the Greybeards up on the Throat of the World after she killed a dragon. They live up there, teaching the Thu'um and studying the ways of the Dragon tongue."

"She killed a dragon? Alone?"

"No, those guards in Whiterun helped, and I think the Jarl's housecarl." The man scratched at his arm absently with his gauntlet covered hand, ignoring the fact that he was wearing armor, Ondolemar nearly winced in sympathetic pain, but the man didn't notice his gaffe, accustomed to the feeling.

"Pfft, if those Whiterun guards can do it, how hard can it be?" The man said, slipping back into his normal speech, forgetting that Ondolemar wasn't one of his colleagues or friends. "Anyway that message came from Whiterun, but she was at the College in Winterhold too. Maybe she lives there when she ain't in Whiterun."

"The mages college?"

"Yeah, she can do magic."

"All Altmeri are gifted with magic." Ondolemar said dismissively. At that statement, the man stiffened, remembering who Ondolemar was.

"Well, that's all I know, sir." The guard turned away without being dismissed, but Ondolemar didn't take offense, too lost in his own thoughts.

Who was this woman, and why did she live in Skyrim of all places? Perhaps she'd always lived here, was never part of the glorious Dominion of the Mer, and didn't understand what great value her gifts would have to her people, if she was even real. Too many things about the stories didn't make sense, and he figured that somewhere out there, they had been lost in translation.

Perhaps the Whiterun guards had killed a dragon, there were certainly plenty of them around, but the myth of an Altmer taking a title and speaking dragon tongue was too far-fetched for him. Ondolemar swept away from where the guard had left him standing, his guards trailing behind him. This information was too scant, and he didn't believe it himself. He would not risk looking like a fool by informing the First Emissary about rumors and likely falsehoods.


	5. Home Or Somplace Like It

Times were difficult for Ondolemar when he had to sate his appetites with a human, though the Redguard was one of the most comely women he'd encountered since his arrival in Skyrim. She was much more pleasing to his eye than a vast majority of the local Nords or Dunmer, and as a priestess of Dibella had been more than willing to offer herself to him in 'contemplation of sensual pleasures'.

He had to admit, the goddess Dibella and her beautiful acolytes pleased him, for there was nothing quite similar amongst the Altmeri. Art and beauty were admired, of course, but there was nothing so celebratory or dedicated. If there had been, he had no doubt his Trina would have been amongst the worshipers. Forgetting the woman who had just left his bed, he thought of his missing wife to be, and how sensual she'd been. Lovemaking between them had been at her initiative, and as they grew together she became more inventive, urging him to explore new things with her. He'd never ever strayed from her, had never entertained the thought, instead making her his goddess and taking part as she discovered what delighted her.

What would Trina make of Skyrim, he wondered? Would she find the people here hopelessly uncultured, uncivilized and barely worth living amongst or would she find beauty even amongst the coarse Nords? No doubt she would, listening to their tavern songs and petting their dogs, she'd probably introduce them to the clay sculpting her mother had excelled in, or the type of plein air painting her father favored. How he missed her - the world had robbed him of an innocence when it removed her from his life, leaving hard cynicism behind. After all these years without any hope of seeing her, he considered her lost, and no other could ever hope to match up to the sweetness that had nearly been bonded to him.

He was resting after the departure of his companion, settled amongst his messy silk sheets, though they were mostly useless upon the stone bed. When he'd left for Skyrim, he'd expected to be less busy than he was at home, but he was even more so. Everyday brought a litany of new orders and demands, concessions to wrangle from the Jarl, missions to delegate to his subordinates. There were times when he awoke, stiff and sore against his stone bed, wishing that he might have a day without the endless drudgery, something new to take him away from the smoky city.

"Commander Ondolemar, sir." He hear the voice outside the door, muffled by the thick stone. He heaved a sigh, but didn't answer. "Therer's been an urgent directive from Elenwen, and it requires your immediate attention. The courier awaits your presence."

"I'll be ready momentarily." He snapped at the door and heard the retreating footsteps of the soldier. Ondolemar sighed as he quickly dressed, trying not to waft the scent of the human woman up to his nose. Later, he would bathe, but settled for covering himself in perfumed oil, rubbing it into his skin hastily before pulling on his Thalmor robes.

_Ondolemar,  
It had reached my ears that there is a High Elf that is rumored to be Dragonborn. While I do not think that these claims are truthful, it would be remiss not to investigate them. See that this is done discreetly, we do not want to tip off the locals, who may attempt to shelter such a person. Should you encounter this woman yourself, gain her confidence and speak with her, make your own determinations and inform me._

_For the Glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!  
Elenwen_

So she thought the rumors worth investigating at least. What could have possibly reached her ears that made her interested? It had to be more than the information he'd coaxed from the guard, otherwise she wouldn't bother writing to him. Dragonborn, Ondolemar thought with disgust, now how was he supposed to distinguish a dragonborn from all the other random rabble in the cities?

#####

Whiterun felt like home to Trina, despite not being there for the vast majority of time. Though she traveled all across Skyrim, she had a particular fondness for both Whiterun and Hjaalmarch Holds, liking both of the Jarls a great deal, but finding the plains of Whiterun far more habitable than the marshland and swamps around Morthal. She didn't own a home in Morthal either, and rather liked retiring to Breezehome when she entered Whiterun, though she was free to sleep at Jorrvaskr as she had when she'd first come to the city.

Some nights she preferred to sleep there, near her shield-siblings, especially since Aela was so distraught after the loss of Skjor. Trina had been so busy helping her friend with her quest for vengeance that she hadn't spent much time sleeping or doing much other than the work she did on the road. She was desperately low on potions, and wanted to enchant the ebony dagger she'd gotten off a bandit, so she headed past the barely decorated Breezehome, right by Jorrvaskr and up to Dragonsreach. Since purchasing the residence, she'd been meaning to attend to her home, but decorating was the least of her thoughts at the moment.

She missed Whiterun whenever she was away, and had been trying to get back more often. It was hard to admit after being used to traveling for so long, but the time on the road had become harder as of late, and Trina found herself missing people, feeling lonely. The Companions had become close to her, especially Aela. They shared a kinship that had started with killing the giant at Pelagia farm, and had been solidified by the beast blood that they shared. Aela felt like family to Trina, and with Skjor's loss, she bore the grief and pain of her shield-sister.

"Ah, so you're back. I was betting my brother that we'd be seeing you again soon. Any good fights?" The Jarl's brother, Hrongar said when Trina entered Dragonsreach. It was strange that he was speaking more than a few words to her, and most of them had nothing to do with fighting. Despite the late hour, he was awake and fully armored, as if he were patrolling the halls, checking on the guards.

"Some." Trina answered, cocking her head to the side and assessing him. He was interested, his chest open towards her, stuck out like a preening bird as she looked him up and down. "Not as many as I would have liked."

Hrongar laughed at that, a hearty, full sound that came from his muscled belly, and she noticed, not for the first time, how attractive he was. "That's what I like to hear. You are like me, love to fight, the battle. We are warriors." He smiled at her, a rare gift he hardly bestowed on any.

There were times when she'd thought she'd projected her own attraction onto him, but Trina wasn't imagining his apparent interest. She glanced quickly around the almost deserted hall, knowing that at the late hour, most people had already gone to bed hours before. He watched her, the curve of her neck as she looked around, at her fingers as the swept an errant lock of sun-kissed hair from her cheek, the swell of her chest with every inhalation, and she could feel the want simmering beneath his veneer of hospitality.

She drew in a deep breath, letting the air fill her chest, suffusing her with clarity to temper her excitement. No matter how many times she did it, the chase and conquest always thrilled her and she had to settle herself before going on. "Do you want to find out what else we have in common?" She asked in a soft, drawling voice that wrapped her meaning in silk and slid over his skin.

His response flickered in his blue eyes before his mouth could form the words, and she felt the jubilation of conquest before he opened his mouth. The words of invitation were lost to her ears, and didn't matter as he led her with a strong hand on the small of her back, to his room.

Hrongar was breathing heavily next to her, hovering on the edges of sleep. Trina's body had the pleasant hum of satisfaction, the kind that came from being with a knowledgeable, fulfilling lover. Her skin stung from the contact of Hrongar's body against hers, hard where she was soft, muscles sore that she hadn't used in longer than she liked to think about. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she sat up and in the darkened room, began to rummage around for her robes.

"They're next to the chair." Hrongar wasn't as close to sleep as she'd thought, and had been watching her as she got up.

"Thanks." Trina murmured. Turning away from the chair, she slid back down towards the bed where he lay, and leaned in to kiss Hrongar. He ran a hand through the blond tangles of her hair, the strong hands clamping down on the sides of her face and locking her into the kiss until they were both breathless.

"I'm not like Balgruuf." He said shortly, a hand still on her face, the other sliding down her front to cup a breast. "I can't have mistresses, relationships."

"I understand." Trina said, pulling away and going back to find her robes. "Neither can I. Things like that...don't ever end well for me." She explained over her shoulder, thinking of the men in her past, mostly of Ondolemar. It had been three decades ago, and here she was in another country, still thinking about him. She doubted that he even spared a thought for her even at the best of times, and not at all when he was indulging in casual intimacies as she had with Hrongar.

"Good, I just wanted us to be clear." Hrongar said, yawning. "I like you."

"Since those you don't like end up dead and not in your bed, I assumed as much."

Hrongar treated her to his deep, rumbling laugh again as Trina sat down in the space she'd just vacated and pulled on her boots. The bed was still warm from the heat of her body, and though she'd enjoyed herself immensely, she felt the need to exit, leave as quickly as possible. It was good that Hrongar had already clarified their relationship, or lack thereof, it would save her the trouble later. She'd bedded too many that thought an interesting night made a permanent connection. Her life wasn't made for those kinds of pleasantries, and she'd gotten used to being alone.

With a last kiss, she left Hrongar and went on to use Farengar's enchanter and alchemy lab while the keep around her buzzed with the movement of early morning. The scent of cooking foods wafted from the kitchens out to her nose, making her stomach growl irritably. Trina needed to eat, to bathe and to sleep in equal measure and found herself stopping at Jorrvaskr as the light of dawn was creeping across the still sleeping Whiterun. People were beginning to stir, but outside there was only her and the guards, nothing but the clank of armor to interrupt the song of the birds welcoming the day. She hummed a quiet, jaunty tune from her childhood that she had long forgotten the words to as she slipped into the familiar mead hall, and gratefully sank into the first bed she found.

A few short hours of rest later she was awakened, an alarmed Aela standing over her bed. Russet colored tresses nearly obscured the worried face that her friend wore, and the huntress looked tired and pale beneath her warpaint. She wondered just what Aela had doing to get the information about the Silver Hand that she kept feeding to Trina.

"Kodlak wants to see you. I think he knows what we've been doing." Aela said shortly. With a weary groan, Trina rose.

She wasn't ready to face Kodlak yet, but knew the conversation was inevitable. She only hoped that he would understand. The last vestiges of the pleasant tingle she'd bore after bedding Hrongar faded as she left the sleeping quarters to see Kodlak, Njada's eyes dark and accusing as she walked by Trina.


	6. Unease

Ever increasing piles of work greeted Ondolemar each day while he was in Markarth. It came to be that he hated to go to sleep, knowing that the next day would hold nothing but more of the same, and he grew despondent at the very thought of his unending assignment. During his days he acted the part, kept himself visible so that the citizenry, the Jarl, everyone could see the influence of the Thalmor and know that they weren't going to be ignored. Work delved into his nights more often, taking away the few precious hours he had to himself.

Though they would never admit it, the Aldmeri weren't in control of much across Tamriel and were pressing more all the time, more influence, resources and people. Too many of the Khajiit and Bosmer had left their lands once they'd aligned with the Thalmor. They presented a united front, hoping that it would make the humans believe in their might. A lie only gained credence if it was repeated often, after all. The truth was far less interesting, for all their might and superiority, the Mer scrambled at the sight as dragons just as the men did and were as mystified as anyone else in understanding the beasts. There had been no information, good or bad, nothing at all about the origin of the dragon threat. Combine that with more Stormcloak uprisings and Imperial insubordination and it combined into a deluge of work that threatened to drown Ondolemar.

He wished to be back home, to be what he'd scorned before, a comfortable bureaucrat, pushing paper and counting coppers. Doing the less visible but altogether necessary work that kept the Dominion working. To be free of his hooded justiciar robes and gone from this damned land of eternal conflict, back to something more agreeable than the crumbling Dwemer ruins atop the frozen wasteland of Skyrim. The older he grew, the less he liked the travel his position demanded. Before he'd chosen to join the justiciary, he'd been training for another part of the Thalmor altogether, but altered his course after Trina was exiled. He had no need to stay safe, and wanted no ties to the life he'd almost had.

"Your orders, Commander?" A group of justiciars stood in front of him, brought here especially by his orders, though there were fewer than he'd requested. He supposed the Thalmor was spread too thin as it was, and resolved to be grateful for what he had been given.

"Skyrim is a hotbed of illegal Talos worship that we've been ordered to end. Let these Nords fear you, let them know the price of their rebellion." He began, his tone quiet despite the fervor of his words. "You can find men walking along the streets towards Eastmarch, determined to join Ulfric Stormcloak's band of traitors. I command you start there, and take Stormcloak soldiers when you can. Be sure to get any information about the resistance from them before execution." Ondolemar stood on a plinth slightly above the people he commanded, reinforcing his superiority over them.

"Go forth and prove the might of the Mer, the glory of our Dominion. Be quick and careful, as always, and be sure to send status reports regularly back to me here in Markarth. Dismissed."

Nothing in his manner hinted at just how unhappy he was, or how badly they needed to assert their dominance in Skyrim. The people here saw them as little more than annoyance, and he'd heard rumors that Ulfric planned to turn his eye towards them if his rebellion won. It had to be stopped now, before it got out of hand. His personal desires or problems were of no consequence; only the mission mattered he reminded himself wearily.

#####

Harbinger. The title was both an honor and a source of sadness to Trina, though she had known from the moment she entered Jorrvaskr that Kodlak was not long for the world. The rot that had infected him had aged his warrior's body and once the Silver Hand had charged against them, she doubted he had been able to put up much of a fight. Perhaps it was the blessing of the Divines that he go down fighting, and that she had been able to cure him of his wolf blood even in the beyond.

The whole ordeal, the way the others looked at her now, it made her feel raw, exposed. Though she'd fought for many years, and was older than Kodlak nearly twice over, she felt inadequate, as if she couldn't possibly take his place. What counsel was she supposed to bring to these warriors, who seemed fine without her guidance? They needed time to mourn, and she needed time to get used to her new position without the collective group eye upon her. She needed to get out of Whiterun. As much as she liked having a home, the instinct borne from years on the road compelled her to continue her solitary travels from time to time.

There were places she hadn't yet traveled in Skyrim, new cities to be unearthed. She'd gone to the east before, ventured through many of the settlements as she made her way to High Hrothgar. This time, Trina wanted to venture westward, but to which Hold she hadn't decided yet. Perhaps she'd only decide on her way to the carriage, when she thought about the list of Hold capital options.

"Harbinger, are you well?" Farkas asked her, entering through her open door without knocking.

Trina turned and smiled at him, "I'm still getting used to being called that." He'd asked her the same question a few days after they'd come back from Ysgramor's tomb, and she found his unexpected concern sweet.

"It is deserved. You fight with honor and gave Kodlak the peace he sought." He motioned to her pack, sitting out on one of the tables. "Are you traveling?"

"I thought I might soon. I haven't been west of Morthal yet, and there is much to see in Skyrim."

Farkas grunted, as if he didn't really agree with her statement but didn't want to argue. "Falkreath is a giant cemetery." He offered. "Might be best to avoid if you don't feel like fighting hordes of undead. Least, that's what happened last time the Companions were called there." Trina wrinkled her nose at his description.

"I think then, I'll go to Markarth. You can send a courier there if you have need of me, though I doubt you will." Trina said, standing.

"Fight well, Trina." Farkas said, nodding at her.

"You too, friend." She answered, earning a rare smile from Farkas as she busied herself with packing.

She heard his heavy footfalls retreating, though her wolf nose could still smell him as if he were standing next to her. His scent was masculine and brawny, as if his most distinguishable physical assets had been distilled into his very essence, an alluring smell, though she didn't sense any distinct attraction to her. There was interest, but the same as there was for nearly every attractive person he came across. Trina shook her head to regain her focus, it was a shame, for he and his brother were handsome, though she had no desire to cloud the already complicated relationships in Jorrvaskr with more sex.

She sighed, thinking of Hrongar, and hoping she might get to indulge herself again before venturing to places unknown, though she hadn't seen him around the last time she was at Dragonsreach. The effort seemed at once too tedious and unnecessary, and she decided not to delay her journey. It seemed she was going to the Reach.


	7. Meeting in Markarth

The city of Markarth was imposing, in a stately, crumbling way and she admired the mountain city, the genius of the Dwemer design. It looked like a regal dame as it declined, with vestiges of beauty that spoke of treasures only an earlier generation could attest to. Trina stood before the walls outside, stretching her long limbs after the extended carriage trip that traversed nearly half of Skyrim. It was night and she wanted nothing more than to settle down at the inn, but she stood in awe of the magnificent sight of the stone city glowing in the moonlight. She supposed in the morning she would go see the Jarl, check out any work that it might present for her, and learn her way around.

Seeing a woman murdered before her very eyes was an ominous way to begin her time in the city. A man yelling about the Forsworn, a note from a stranger and guards that seemed eager to assume everything was under control made her more than a little apprehensive about staying in the city.

In the morning, she couldn't truly say she was rested after a night on a stone bed, but didn't complain. The more time she spent in the city, she couldn't actually say she liked it. The guards here weren't at all like the ones she'd met anywhere else, and were definitely hiding something, they seemed even more criminal than the guards in Riften. The people were suspicious, wary and rude to her as an outsider, and she could feel the collective suffering of the town as if it had welled underneath it feeding the silver the sprung from the prison mine she'd heard about more than a few times.

Trina first made her way to the Temple of Talos, to meet the man that had surreptitiously dropped a note in front of her as the guards were trying to clear everyone away from the site of the murder. Another soul needing help, a mystery that began long before she'd come to Skyrim, and a conspiracy she didn't doubt that the city and the guards were involved in. Already there was too much going on in this town, and she'd just arrived. Deciding to speak with the Jarl in hopes of better understanding, she found her way, after several wrong turns up strange staircases, to Understone Keep.

"You have the honor of speaking to one of the Thalmor, a superiorly bred Mer." Ondolemar turned and spoke to her just before Trina reached the Jarl's throne room. He didn't recognize her at first glance, seeing only an Altmer woman covered in the dust of travel, fearsomely armed and armored standing before him.

She had dreamed of this day, of seeing him again. After she'd left, she spent half a decade thinking that he might be looking for her, have an ear out. But when no message came, no sign, hate took the place of hope in her heart, and she grew angry at just the thought of her former fiancée. Now she was standing before him and he didn't recognize her from any of the other assorted people that passed him by, and Trina let herself have a moment of pure fury, letting it wash over her body, coast through her veins before she snapped open eyes she didn't realized she'd closed and spoke.

"How very vexing to see you again, my darling Ondolemar."

Ondolemar turned on her, barely concealing his haughty rage as he inspected her face, recognition changing his features from angry to reflect his complete and utter shock. A fine-boned hand reached out then darted back, stopping short of touching her face. "Trina. You're alive." He breathed, as if he couldn't believe the evidence of his own eyes, standing before him.

"No thanks to your precious Thalmor." She spat, looking daggers at the soldiers just over his shoulder. "Superiorly bred Mer my golden ass. Superiorly bred idiot you mean. Tell me, husband, how many _superiorly bred whores_ have you bedded since my exile?"

Ondolemar sputtered, and though his guards were good enough never to question him, he still tried to explain without actually addressing them. "Trina, we were never married, my darling near-wife." He said, using the term of endearment he'd once used in their past, during the heady days just after they'd begun planning their marriage celebration. "And every whore pales in comparison to the perversions I learned in your bed." He said dropping his voice, hoping that his disinterested tone sounded as scathing as he'd intended it. Infuriatingly, Trina simply laughed, the sound as he remembered, though this time edgier, lined with her rage.

"Have you lain with this disgusting Nord men? Queen amongst their furs and hay, with your hands bound to the bed."

Trina didn't bother to answer that, because she'd bedded several people since leaving Alinor. She hadn't restricted herself, for she had no one to answer to, and she and Ondolemar had certainly been free enough in their affections with each other. There had been others in her bed, not just the Nords or Redguards that she'd lived amongst and certainly, not just men. She loved towering over Bretons, the gentle moans of an Imperial woman beneath her, and being scratched by Orcs. It made her smile that Ondolemar had remembered what she liked in bed, of all things. If anything, time had given her a more voracious appetite.

"Almost-husband," she too, could use their old nicknames, "did you even miss me at all or did you simply trade up after I was gone? Perhaps one of the brainless servants behind you now warms your bed."

At that statement one of his guards unsheathed her weapon, but Ondolemar held up a hand to stop her. "Leave us." He commanded, and the pair of guards walked to the other side of the hall, neither out of sight nor earshot.

"Are you the Dragonborn?" He asked in a hushed voice, leaning close to her. She even smelled the same, after all these years, his nose picked up the scent of her, not the dirt or the scent of his own oiled skin, but of her, something that was uniquely Trina, that spoke to him after their long separation and beckoned him home.

"Wouldn't that be ironic? The trash that the almighty Thalmor threw away has the blood of dragons." Trina crossed her arms in front of her chest. "If I said yes, would you believe me?"

"No." Ondolemar said immediately.

"Then I fear this conversation will have no resolution, dear almost-husband."

They stared hard at each other, in silence, neither relenting. It was Trina that broke away first, tutting at him. "Just as stubborn as ever." She muttered, a comment that he didn't acknowledge. "It has been wonderful to see you, but I am leaving Markarth, so you needn't worry about running into me again." Trina spun on her heel, ready to make an exit when Ondolemar grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to face him.

"Leaving? So soon? But we have so much to catch up on." He meant the words to be menacing, but in true Trina form, she laughed again, this time less angry but wilder, her control eroded. Nothing about this made sense to either of them, to meet in Skyrim, for him to not recognize her, for her to be so frighteningly bitter at the very sight of him.

"Ondolemar, we have nothing to say to each other. Nothing at all." Shaking her arm free of his grip, she did leave this time, fleeing down the steps and out of Understone Keep.

Outside, leaning against the wall, she began to shake, sinking to the ground. Dragons and sabre cats, cave bears and bandits she could deal with, but her past, Ondolemar, it was too much. The strong hands of one of the guards lifted her up and half-dragged her over to the stone bench, where he deposited her, out of the way of the doors. She could barely thank him through her tears. There was one thing she was sure of, she wasn't coming back to Markarth if she could help it.


	8. A Conversation to Finish

"Commander Ondolemar, sir. Was that woman the Dragonborn?" His guards returned as soon as Trina fled the building, their watchful eyes the lone impediment barring him from chasing after her. The flat of his hands smoothed down his Thalmor robes, picking non-existent lint off the finery before he deigned to answer the soldier. Within the cage of his chest, his heart thudded madly, enraged and excited in equal measure by Trina. It was maddening folly to meet in Skyrim after so many years, and he felt, more than ever, that the deities taunted him at every turn.

"I highly doubt it." Ondolemar straightened, regaining his professional coolness, though his head was still spinning. Trina, after all these years was not only alive, but here in Skyrim, and possibly the Dragonborn. "She's someone who believes in subverting the interests of the Thalmor. He said evasively, trying to buy himself more time. The last thing he needed was one of his soldiers sending a report before he could figure things out for himself.

"Rest assured, I will get to the bottom of this." He said, tone indicating that he would brook no arguments and that the topic of conversation was over. The soldier nodded curtly at him in acknowledgement, her face showing her deference to his judgment in the matter. Resuming his usual morning, his schedule was read, but thoughts of Trina kept distracting him, driving his mind to wild speculation about her life since they'd last met, bringing forth memories of the worst of days in the past.

The days when she'd been imprisoned were the hardest for him, before they'd decided what to do with her. There had been those that argued for immediate death, but he had insisted that she so loved their home, was so devoted to him and her family that letting her live as an exile, an outcast from all that she held dear was a worse fate. Her parents voiced similar plans, though her mother said it would be 'a relief' if she were put to death. Those words had since haunted him, her mother, whom Trina shared many features with, silent tears running down her face, blond hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, standing and saying that it would be a relief for her, if her only daughter were put to death.

Through his pain, the confusion, it was in that moment he felt the most helpless. Their society wouldn't let her family recover from this shame, cousins that served the Thalmor would be transferred to remote posts, their name blackened as a warning. There merest hint of rebellion could spark harsh retribution. He would only be spared this fate because she was his intended, not his wife, and he could do nothing, nothing to help Trina or her family besides advocate for her exile.

He hadn't been allowed to see her, but he hadn't been foolish enough to ask either. Ondolemar hadn't worked his way through the ranks in the Thalmor without knowing how such imprisonments worked. Distancing himself from her family was the next course of action, and to him it was no great loss. It was Trina that he loved, not her family, though he got on well enough with them. His own family expressed pride in his ability to sever the ties so completely with them, but he hadn't been that calculating. It was that the loss of Trina was so profound, so shattering him that in the wake of her exile, he hadn't the heart to face her family and later, once he'd grieved, he no longer had the need.

In the years afterwards he acted his part convincingly, telling others that it was simply an arranged match and a mistake on his part to look to take a wife. To anyone who asked, Ondolemar insisted that he no longer even thought of the exiled woman, but was wary of looking for another wife. Life had given him few allies and fewer friends, and in the end, he kept his own counsel on the matter, feeling as if there was no one he could trust.

"...and you've a meeting with the Jarl after the midday meal." A nearby lackey was finishing up a listing his itinerary when Ondolemar brought his mind back to the present. Giving no indication that he hadn't been listening, he nodded and continued his day, a pantomime of his normal routine as he tried to figure out what to do about Trina. He wasn't going to just let her leave him, not again.

After nightfall descended upon the Keep, quieting the halls and kitchens, Ondolemar sneaked from his quarters to avoid altering the Thalmor guards that stood sentinel on his orders. It was ironic - he hadn't tried to sneak past the Thalmor since Trina had left. When they were together, before, she always had him out too late and he'd became adept at getting back into his room undetected. Without her, he had no reason to abandon his studies, and the places they'd once gone together, the lonely stretches of beach where they lay nude in the embrace of the soft sands no longer held any enticement for him alone. He skulked through the halls of Understone Keep looking over his shoulder, but quickly found what he sought. He carefully made his way over to one of the few guards on duty, the one furthest from where he and his guards slept. It was crucial he was not overheard by his own guards.

"Were you on duty this morning?" He asked, hoping that the understaffed guards hadn't changed too many times. The man nodded, and even that action looked weary, though Ondolemar knew that the man would be relieved soon.

"There was an elf here earlier today, a woman. I spoke to her but she raced away from me." He started without preamble. "Do you know of her?"

"The Harbinger of the Companions you mean? Everyone knows of her. They say she's the Dragonborn."

So it was true, Trina was the Dragonborn. "Who are the Companions?" He queried, having heard the name before but neglected to pay proper attention.

"Guild of warriors out of Whiterun."

"Mercenaries?" Ondolemar asked, arching an eyebrow.

"The Companions have honor that mere mercenaries do not. They were once led by Ysgramor himself and their order is older than the city of Whiterun." The man said slowly, as if he were explaining it to a disrespectful child. "To be amongst their rank is a privilege for the finest warriors and to provide counsel to their order, as the Harbinger does, is reserved for only the most select."

"Yes, yes." Ondolemar said, waving an impatient hand. "You say she's the leader?"

"Kodlak Whitemane has gone to Sovngarde and named her his replacement." The guard explained, but Ondolemar was lost. He had no briefing on such matters before coming to Skyrim and being in the country had only served to confuse him further. There were places where it never stopped snowing, whole cities with an endless winter, and the customs of the people varied from Hold to Hold. He didn't know their names, couldn't figure out their system of laws, and it seemed absurd that they even had a High King when each Jarl seemed to rule with their own sovereignty.

Nothing made sense in Skyrim, but for once he didn't long for the crystal spires and glass buildings of his homeland. Trina was in Skyrim, as was he, the fates allowing him one more chance to see her after all of these years. He hadn't gone after her before, and look at what had happened to her, to him, to the entity that had once been them as a loving couple, Ondolemar and Trina. Life had been less without her in it, and he wasn't going to damn himself to that Oblivion again like an utter fool. The years without her accordioned into near nothingness in his memory, without light or spark to distinguish them in his mind.

"The Companions are in Whiterun?"

The human nodded, his tired body showing his relief that Ondolemar had understood finally. "They have a mead hall there called Jorrvaskr. The Dragonborn is probably headed back that way. The outer wall guards say she left the city already in a carriage headed eastward." The man inclined his head towards Ondolemar and he imagined that under the helm he was giving him a cheeky grin. Palming the man a coin purse he'd prepared, he cautioned him not to speak of their conversation to anyone else before stealing back into his own quarters.

If he planned it carefully enough, he could get to Whiterun without arousing suspicion. Ondolemar stood silently in his room, racing mind already formulating a plan. He'd need different clothes, plain robes instead of his Thalmor robes to avoid detection, but he was going to go to Whiterun and find her mead hall.

He and Trina had a conversation to finish.


	9. At Jorrvaskr

Vilkas came rushing down the steps, to the room that he had visited so often when it belonged to Kodlak. Trina could feel him coming, his swift steps making the plates rattle on the table as he went by, but behind the closed door of her room, she couldn't tell if it was Farkas or Vilkas until he got close enough to smell. Definitely Vilkas, he was still a little unfamiliar to her nose, though he lived in Jorrvaskr as she did. From time to time Farkas came to visit her, sparring with her and seeking her out in her quarters to make sure her transition to Harbinger was going well, though he was never very talkative. Vilkas had been close with Kodlak and was more reserved, only speaking to her in more public places, and thusly he wasn't as familiar to her.

"Trina, there's an elf outside asking for you. I think he's from the Thalmor. I could barely stop Farkas from ripping him apart."

"What?!" Panic rose within her at the mention of the Thalmor coming to Jorrvaskr. She wasn't armed or armored, and cursed her decision to wear the more comfortable tavern clothes as she read and meditated in her quarters.

"Well, he was demanding to see you, and when Aela said to wait, he told her that _no filthy Nord could stop a superiorly bred Mer_ like himself." Vilkas imitated the haughty voice in a sing-song, mocking way, and she nearly cringed in embarrassment.

"Oh Dibella, save me." Trina grumbled, shifting from panic to annoyance in mere seconds. "That's Ondolemar. I have no idea what he's doing here, but I will see him."

"Someone you know then." Vilkas crossed his arms over his wide chest and fixed her with a glare that was all contemptuous accusation. He didn't really trust her, but she didn't take offense. She rather liked that earning his trust would likely take years, for it would make him a stalwart friend once she'd proved herself.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she began, not quite sure how to explain Ondolemar to anyone. "He's my husband, or at least, he would have been. Technically, we might still be engaged. It was all very formal." Trina cocked her head to the side, considering the intricate steps and complex bureaucracy of their abandoned marriage negotiations. It was entirely possible, unless Ondolemar had petitioned for the dissolution of their affianced status, for her parents couldn't have done it while she still lived, even if she was exiled.

Shock made Vilkas's mouth hang open, forming a perfect 'O' shape as Trina strode by him, on her way to the stairs. "So this is...personal?" He asked. "Nothing to do with the Thalmor?"

"It's personal." Trina said shortly, not wanting to explain further, lest she have to lie to the Companion. "And very complicated."

"So it would seem." Vilkas said from behind her. An almighty crash from upstairs made her break into a run, and she swung the doors open, racing up the stairs to see most of the Companions standing around Ondolemar who had hands raised as if he were burning to cast a spell to counter their drawn weapons.

"Tell me I can kick his ass out of here, sister." Farkas asked in a near snarl, the heated need for a brawl making his words thicker and more feral. He was nearest to Ondolemar, his sword hovering dangerously.

Trina allowed herself a small smile before she answered. "Farkas, a few decades ago there would have been nothing I would have liked more, but as it is, stand down."

The burly Nord sheathed his sword, but not before saying, "On the command of our Harbinger, I will not kill you today. I cannot promise the same should we meet again."

The crowd around them broke with tense mutters, leaving Trina facing Ondolemar. The Companions were still wary, still watching their Harbinger and the hostile stranger. Without another word she seized his arm, roughly guiding him away from the eyes of the others.

Aela's narrowed eyes followed the stranger that Trina led forcibly from their midst, her distrust evident in her manner. When she moved it was as if her body possessed a will of its own, wanting to follow Trina to be sure this man knew his place, that they would not allow harm to come to her. She would never let her guard down when it came to protecting their Harbinger, not in their travels or in this building, not after the Silver Hand attacked and slew Kodlak. Vilkas shot out a brawny forearm to restrain her before she could set her feet in the right direction to follow.

"Aela, I know that you love our Harbinger as a sister, but do not interfere." He counseled. Aela shook her head stubbornly, not able to accept his words.

"This man wouldn't state his intent. It is wise to follow them."

"No. Trina has made it clear to me that this is a personal matter. I beg you, trust her wisdom and let her resolve this. It is not a battle he wants with her, but I think, answers."

Aela turned her gaze upon Vilkas, and correctly assessed him. "You know something."

Though they had the good sense to avert their eyes from where he and Aela stood, he could feel the perked ears of everyone in Jorrvaskr, including old Tilma, who was pretending to sweep out a corner. He had no wish to divulge what Trina had told him to everyone without her permission, so he simply answered, "Yes."

"Alright." Aela said, letting her body relax in a gesture of acquiescence. She would speak further about the incident to Trina, not anyone else. With too much pent-up energy to retire and no desire to eavesdrop on Trina, she went out to the training yard, herding Athis and Njada out with her so they could at least entertain her with their bickering while she practiced and ensured Trina a little more privacy.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Trina hissed, dragging Ondolemar through Jorrvaskr, down to her room. The thought flashed through her mind that she might be better off taking him to Breezehome, but she didn't want to drag him through half of Whiterun to get there. Too many people would see, and there would be talk that neither of them could afford. A frown creased her face as she thought about the terrible risk he'd taken to come searching for her. The Thalmor must not know of his trip away from Markarth. Iron fingers were wrapped around his arm, pulling him towards the privacy of her room and out of sight of the others.

"Our conversation was unfinished."

"It's been finished for decades." She said, leading him towards the back end of the living quarters. He wasn't dressed in his Thalmor robes, but in the dark robes of a master conjurer, with the hood pulled low over his face. He could have been anyone, traveler, court mage or a student from the college. It bothered her more than she could say that she recalled how hard he had studied to further his inherent magical abilities, that seeing the master robes on his familiar frame lit an errant spark of pride within her. Nights they'd spent together had been few compared to the time he spent with books, in diligent study, practice or contemplation.

"No, that just delayed it. What were you thinking?" Ondolemar asked heatedly, giving voice to the question that had been in his mind for far too long. "Why did you speak out against the Thalmor? Did you care nothing for those of us you left behind?"

Barbarously, Trina shoved him into her room, slamming the door shut behind them with a timber creaking **bang** that echoed loudly up above, shaking the floor and making dust rain down from the ceiling. "No one here knows about that, so I will ask you to keep your voice down." She said through clenched teeth. Though her voice was menacing, Ondolemar was not cowed, close to losing the tightly wrapped control he'd kept for so long.


	10. Lover's Quarrel

"You owe me an answer."  
  
"I owe you _nothing_ , Ondolemar."   
  
"I loved you." He said in a low voice, his face so close to hers that her instinct was to step back, just so she could breathe. In her quarters, his presence seemed to fill the whole space and she couldn't believe she'd just been meditating in the room, for it was too confined now. "You knew of my career, of my life, and yet you still spoke blasphemies against the Thalmor. I need to know why. Why didn't you think of me, of us and our life together? Or didn't you care anymore?"  
  
Her rage was palpable, filling her chest, expanding with every breath heaved, with every moment that they didn't speak. Trina was as intractable as ever, and he found it oddly comforting that time hadn't stamped that charmless trait out of her, that he still remembered the best and worst of her accurately.  
  
"Never! I would never abandon you, us, or our families if I'd had the choice." She began, indignation making her emphatic, but stepped backward to think, needing space from Ondolemar. Her heart was crashing about in her chest, threatening to thump out of her body, her head pounding angrily at this situation and his nearness wasn't helping. Why had he come here now, here, to have this long awaited talk?  
  
A sudden suspicion ran through Trina and she closed her eyes, trying to focus her racing thoughts. His barely controlled anger frightened her, not that he might hurt her, no, he would never, but in that she was the focus of such wrathful ire, such malevolence. "What exactly did they say? What did you think I'd done?" Her voice was meeker as she asked, an attempt to make it neutral had dampened the heat, but also the bravado and she simply sounded tired and broken.  
  
"That you said the war with the men was sheer folly, and you doubted the wisdom of the Thalmor in entering such a conflict. That men shouldn't be trifled with, and that you saw no reason not to submit to their Emperor, have them live alongside us in our lands. You said these things in a room full of people, trying to pervert their loyalty to the Dominion." Bitterness made his normally silken tone clipped and short. The staccato didn't become him, making it harder to understand him, contorting his handsome face with a rhythmless tap as he spat the words. "It wasn't like you to be so careless in your speech, but you never denied the charged against you. Your silence made it fact."  
  
"Would you like to hear what really happened that day?" Trina asked, her voice quiet. It had never occurred to her that the Thalmor would invent a story to tell her family, something more suited to their purpose, but she supposed that it wasn't truly surprising. She strode away from him, facing the far wall of her room. Without knowing if he answered she went on. "I was attending a figure drawing class, as you know. I wondered aloud why we were bothering to fight the men, whom it seemed pointless to conquer. I wondered why we should fight them. That's all I said, Ondolemar, I swear it. I asked a question, not voiced opposition. They made me into some renegade when I said nothing more than what we'd spoken of so often with our friends. Until they arrested me at your house, I had no idea I'd done anything wrong."  
  
Silence fell between them, he considered what he'd just heard. She could smell him, every physical response to her and what she was saying, more potent due to his heightened emotions. His heart and his head were warring, though he wanted to believe her, he was considering all the facts as he knew them, every angle. Confusion clouded his face, as if he couldn't decide what version of the truth to believe, but with every glance he stole at Trina, she felt him choosing hers, wanting to believe in her words. As soon as she'd closed the door of the room, their interaction had been loaded; he'd reacted to their isolation and her nearness, and she could feel herself responding in kind.   
  
Trina let wounds she'd thought long healed reveal themselves, filling them with the anger that had simmered within her for too long. Control broke away from her again, as if hollowness spread from the inside of her heart outward. She whipped around to face him, accusing him with thoughts thirty years too late. "And what of you, why were they at your house? Did you lead them to me?"  
  
"What?! No, you wouldn't think that I would ever let them take you if I'd known. They simply came and asked for you. Before you showed up, we were having tea with Mother. I thought nothing of it, thinking they meant to talk to you about me, one of their checks that they do routinely. I was as aghast as you when they cuffed you and read charges."  
  
"So that's it, you were having tea and they arrested me?" Caustic, mad laughter threatened to spill from her and with effort, she managed to restrain it. Ondolemar sharing tea with her captors was almost too much for her to bear.  
  
"I hadn't been told. Later they said you were a traitor, and went through my things, searched my entire family home looking for proof of subversion. I can only imagine what they did to your family."  
  
A muscle in her jaw twitched as she clapped her mouth shut tight. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, and she got the feeling that he was debating whether to tell her of her family or not. It didn't matter to her anymore, but in the past, it would have been important to her. Lost feelings that had long since become dust tugged at her, making her wish that thoughts of her family still engendered love within her heart.  
  
"Trina?" He asked, his voice quieter, marked with his efforts to calm and restrain himself. "Where have you been? I wanted to search for you, but I was under surveillance for years after you were gone."  
  
Ondolemar was standing before her, his eyes asking questions that she didn't want to answer. There was too much to say, too many years lost between them to account for. She turned away, a hand going to cover her tired eyes as she thought, trying to distill decades of experiences into mere sentences.  
  
"Did you?" She asked, sorrow and anger filling her in equal measure.  
  
"I didn't want this! How could you think I wanted to lose you? I would have given them anything, bribed anyone, offered myself first." He exclaimed, his words reaching such a fevered pitch that he sounded only a shadow of the reserved man she'd loved, but the passion suited him, gave him fire and gravitas, made his voice alluringly deep and raw.   
  
Footsteps alerted her to him coming up behind her, and she could hear the short gasps of angry breath in his chest as he drew nearer. His motions were rough and angry as he tried to turn her to face him. "Face me, Trina. Or can't you look me in the eye?" Shaking him off with a jerky movement, she nearly turned the full force of her temper upon him, and for a second, just a split second she could feel the beast in the back of her mind.   
  
_That was what Vilkas and Farkas don't want_ , she thought frantically, as she felt the wolf within her ready to spring forth. It was more than just the overwhelming crush feelings and barrage of memories Ondolemar was calling to the surface, but him, his very being, that was too much. The air between them tasted of their mutual attraction, denied for too long, and she could feel his heart beating as if she had a hand on his chest. Rapid thumps echoed in her ears, lending a primal beat to underscore their confrontation.  
  
Behind her, she heard him move and suddenly he was there, his arm around her waist, binding her back to the wall of his chest as his mouth kissed the exposed skin where shoulder met neck. His teeth scraping upwards before he ended with a soft bite on her neck, then began traveling back down, licking the throb of her pulse with his pointed tongue. For a moment she froze, unsure, but in the next breath she relaxed, the blood her veins akin to heated honey, melting into his nearly forgotten but achingly familiar touch.


	11. Frenzy

"Oh, Divines." Trina whispered. "I should have guessed we would end up in bed, again."  
  
"Trina", Ondolemar muttered, the word vibrating against her sensitive skin. The rasped name was drenched in need, uttered with such stark sincerity that it made her go weak-kneed upon hearing it.   
  
He didn't speak further, but renewed his kiss, moving up her neck, his chest pressing into her back. Trina tilted her head to the side, exposing more skin to his eager mouth, as one of his hands delved into the low front of her dress. Nimble fingers found her nipple, teasing, rolling it between his fingertips until it became a hardened peak. A smart tug on her bodice had her exposed breasts tumbling out, and the flat of his hand grazed them with a light touch before pinching each nipple in turn. Trina moaned, heat rising throughout her, making her body sag weakly against his as she need overtook her. Ondolemar's other hand was just as busy, already ghosting over her thighs courtesy of the long slit up the left side of her dress, and pushing past her smallclothes.  
  
Wetness seeped between her legs from just his few kisses, but truthfully since she'd led him to her room, she'd been excited by his presence amongst her things. She turned her head to kiss his lips, needy as his hands slid over her, memory guiding them as they found spots he'd first explored years ago, her body responding with vigor to his nearly forgotten touch. His lips crashed upon hers, and though she was startled at the raw ferocity of his touch, she yielded at once to the pressure, her hunger matching his. Ondolemar was like a ravenous man presented with a banquet, too far gone to be cautious and delirious at the first hints of satiation. The careless edge he exuded excited her, as if she were unearthing new passions within him, stoked by an extended absence.  
  
Teeth nipped at his full lower lip, kissing and sucking, growing more urgent with each renewed kiss. She ran a hand over his face, needing to touch him, to commit the contours of his feature to the memory of her fingertips once more. Impatient fingers pushed back the hood that had shrouded his face, revealing half-closed green eyes that were startlingly familiar yet almost those of a stranger. Ondolemar's blond hair was short and neat, matching the stubble that dotted his jaw and chin, though the light on his face threw the creases and lines into relief, showing a face she remembered with less worry lines. They were older now, and hopefully better than before.  
  
Impatience guided both of them, and the movements of his fingers were wilder than he'd intended as he rubbed against her. Trina's hips pushed against his hand, and he obliged, listening to her give a steady moan as he did. The touch of her sex against his hand was almost unbearably hot, the feel of her like a hearth doused in oil. It was making him feverish, desiring more, wanting to be in her, but not wanting it to end.   
  
The simple dress she wore had a corset across her midriff, and his fingers were too fumbling, his mind too clouded to do more than tug frustratedly at the pulls. Ondolemar focused on what he could reach, planting kisses down her arm as he sank to his knees, running his hands along the length of her leg. Trina's fingers took up what his could not, and he could feel her unlacing the corset, freeing herself from the dress. It pooled at her feet within moments, covering his head briefly, earning a laugh from her. Shooting a quick grin up at her, he remained undaunted, tugging away her smallclothes and adding them to the pile of her dress. He kissed the petal-soft interior of her muscled thighs, biting at the sensitive flesh as a deluge of memories, years with Trina washed over him. If he'd done this once, he'd done it a hundred times, and never had he made love to her by rote, but always with passion and love. This occasion was no different, just delayed. Ondolemar couldn't give in to the luxurious pull of the past, not when he could feel the thrum of her pulse calling him, the scent of her aching for his touch.  
  
Her fists locked around his short hair as he licked her, traveling the length of her slit as she stood above him. Above him, Trina was moaning loudly, grinding her hips into his face, urging him onward. His tongue was as deft as a finger, sliding between folds and pearl expertly, his upturned nose nudging at just the right intervals. Tremors shook him, threatening to knock him off-balance, but he persisted, knowing that she was getting too close to stop. He reveled in it, kissing and teasing as he drew a keening note from her, until the rhythm and the pressure mounted until Trina nearly toppled them both with the force of her climax.   
  
He knew she was weak-kneed and barely standing, breasts glistening with a sheen of sweat, her hair limp and disheveled as it lay across her shoulders. Completely nude and glorious above him, she stood like a goddess with him worshiping at her heels. Standing up, he licked the taste of her from his lips and shucked his own clothing, letting her catch her breath. Ondolemar's hand captured a heaving breast and he bent his head to suckle it, ignoring her squeals of sensitivity. His hands were refined, but their movements lacked the same grace as he groped her, squeezing at her breasts and hips, scraping at her skin with manicured fingertips.   
  
Trina let out a squawk of surprise as he hauled her, not to the bed as she'd supposed, but off the floor, pressing her against the wall. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist. She braced herself between him and the wall, placing a hand on his shoulder, ready to slide onto his erection.   
  
All it took was one growl, a vibration rumbling darkly from his chest, and they both moved at the same time. She downwards and he up, meeting in the middle, both letting out a cry as he hilted himself within her on the first stroke.  
  
"Don't move. Please." He said through clenched teeth. Trina obliged him and they were both still but for long breath he exhaled, and she could feel every delicious inch of him filling her, hard and immobile for just a few moments.  
  
Then Ondolemar began to slowly move, and she heard the moan dribbling from her lips before she realized it was coming from her. He felt so good, so right that she wanted to cry. She'd missed this, had missed him. He build up speed quickly, one hand against the wall and the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head towards his as they shared a savage kiss. There was no time for gentleness between them, years and years had passed, adding desperation to a flame that had never been doused completely.  
  
"Faster." She begged in a ragged sob. "Harder!"  
  
Any more and he would break, completely shatter within her. There was simply no more left, nothing to do but keep up his punishing pace, hurtling toward the end he couldn't avoid but didn't wish to meet. Sensation was his only guide, and he felt formless as mist all pleasure an no substance, feeling Trina beneath him, her breath on his skin as he met her hips with every surge of his own. In the little space she had, she wiggled and twisted, meeting his thrusts with abbreviated versions of her own, raking nails down his back. He bit down on her shoulder, leaving indents in her skin, but her cry only spurred him on further. He could feel her surrounding him, walls constricting with each gasp, her legs wrapped tightly around his sweat-slicked back.  
  
The end was imminent but Trina was pounding fists against his chest, writhing beneath him as another climax bore rippled through her. Lights sparked dizzily before his eyes and he shut them, burying his head in her shoulder. The last vestiges of her release hastened his own, listening to her breathless whimpers in his ear, and he felt his hips jerk of their own accord, his mouth opening to let out a primal bellow that echoed overhead.   
  
Trina was laying in the bed, her head resting on Ondolemar's chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath. They'd moved to the bed afterwards, he carrying her, but they hadn't spoken. Instead they both just simply were there, together, in an unexpectedly comfortable silence.


	12. Apologies

"The life of a warrior suits you." He remarked, fingertips tracing the warpaint that decorated her face. It must have looked so strange to him, contributed to his not recognizing her at first, for she had been long gone from Alinor when she'd gotten it. "You're more beautiful than ever." Trina treated him to a smile, closing her eyes as she lay contentedly against him. "There's never been anyone else." He said in a murmur, a hand smoothing back her tangled hair that had spread across his chest.  
  
"I would accuse you of lying, but you've always been the most plain-spoken Mer I've ever known." Trina answered, thinking of how it must have been for him. In the intervening years, when she wasn't angry with him, she'd thought about him, wondering, but not about how the Thalmor must have demanded his allegiance, how those restrictions would have changed his life.  
  
"Things happened, I can't even explain how lost I felt after you were gone. I had to act my part, do what was expected, but I had no place in the world, not without you."  
  
Trina turned over, pulling herself up to face him. Amber eyes met green ones as she confessed, "I will always love you." It wasn't a promise but a fact. Dropping her face to his chest, she kissed her way across it, stopping to tease his nipple with her tongue. He groaned, and she felt his hands hauling her upwards, gentle but firm as they pulled her closer to his face.  
  
"And I you." He whispered back to her.   
  
"I should apologize to you." Trina began in a slow voice, her fingers drifting over Ondolemar's skin as she spoke into his ear. With a soft laugh, she recalled words that she'd been told before she'd been betrothed to him. "My mother always said actually getting up the courage to say sorry is why the apology is important. And it is true, I've found, that when formal apologies are offered, it goes a great way towards soothing hurts." She leaned over and kissed his lips before continuing. "I hurt you in a way I never intended, and I apologize. The words might not mean much now, but I regret the years away and the bitterness that I allowed to fill me. You were my love, and I missed you."  
  
He kissed her fingertips, bringing each to his mouth in turn, slowly pressing a kiss to each. "I should never have believed you a traitor. I owe you more than an apology."  
  
Trina laughed again, this time it was sadder, slower. "We could be here all night and all of tomorrow exchanging apologies for the past. What of the future, Ondolemar? You don't really believe in the rot the Thalmor spouts?"  
  
His face hardened at that, and she could tell she'd struck a nerve. Perhaps in the time she'd been gone he had grown to believe in it, for he hadn't before. "It's not a matter of what I believe when it comes to my work, though I haven't seen much promise in Men."  
  
She smoothed a hand over his shoulder, letting it drift down his side. "We're going to have to disagree on this, my love. I'm sure that in time, I could convince you of otherwise." She let her voice drop some, making her threat promising and sultry instead of dangerous, but he registered it for what it was. He sighed, remembering her argumentative nature. Same old Trina.  
  
"Speaking of the Thalmor, there's an agent at the College of Winterhold. He's up to something. I might have to kill him." She continued conversationally, and Ondolemar sat up as she spoke.  
  
"Ancano." He spat the name as if it were bitter in his mouth, his dislike immediately evident.  
  
"You know him?" Trina pulled herself up next to him, letting the blanket covering her fall without care, her breasts in full view.   
  
Before he answered, Ondolemar let a finger skim down her jaw and neck, tracing her collarbone idly before sweeping over a dark amber nipple. His finger traced circles around the bud, watching it tighten as he continued his caress, admiring the contrast it had against her pale gold skin with its slightly greenish undertones. He watched the pleasure flit over her face at his teasing movement, making her close her eyes and sigh, feeling nearly proud at her response to him. It excited him to be so causal with such an intimate touch, as if time had fractured and they'd never been apart, their bond enduring.  
  
"We've met and disagreed on more than one occasion. He's doing something secret that I'm supposed to know nothing about, but I think he's deviated a bit from his assignment. Much to the annoyance of our superiors."  
  
"I get the feeling he's working for himself instead of the glory of your precious Dominion." Trina said.  
  
"Then you have my permission to kill him if he gets out of control."  
  
"Your permission? To kill?" Trina smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. "You've changed a lot, Ondolemar." She remarked, before leaning over to kiss him.  
  
"Perhaps I have changed, but so have plenty of other things. Sometimes too much has changed but yet not enough, I think." He was slightly maudlin as he mused on it, thinking of Alinor and himself mostly. "But I think we've got enough evidence to know that we, us, hasn't."   
  
The smile Trina gave him was sweet and completely devoid of any artifice, there was no need to pretend with him, and her own thoughts the same as his on that matter. From anyone else she wouldn't have tolerated such sentimentality, but Ondolemar was always more thoughtful and sensitive than he cared to admit. She understood the deception he perpetrated, even to himself. No weakness was too small for the Thalmor to exploit, and to the public eye he seemed hard and inflexible, but with her he was always open but contemplative and questioning. Without a confidante for so many years, she was sure that he had much to say, thoughts to talk out. It had always been his way of thinking, to spark debate and listen to other arguments. She hoped that he would stay for longer than a night so they could actually talk, do more than just recount the years lost between them.  
  
Instead of expressing her hopes in words, she leaned in to kiss him again. She was deceptively gentle at first. distracting him with her kiss before shoving him back to the bed. With a swift, fluid movement, Trina was astride his waist, and he quite happy to submit to her. Blond hair shot with light red made curtains around her face as she hovered above him, slowly grinding her pelvis against his, making his heartbeat tap dance against his chest in anticipation. Her skin was so hot against his own, threatening to burn, yet he craved the warmth of her like a moth drawn to flame. Ondolemar reached a hand up to push the hair away from her face; he wanted to see her clearly, so he could commit every detail to memory.  
  
"Again?" He asked, pleased.  
  
"Unless you'd planned on going back to Markarth."  
  
"I'm seeking out Talos worship in the area for a report. Could take me, say...nearly a week to finish my observation."  
  
"Good." Trina replied as he pulled her down into a kiss.


	13. A Continued Affair

They'd agreed that there was no point in even talking about leaving the Thalmor at the moment, for they would simply hunt him down and kill him, relentless waves of justiciars and soldiers coming after both of them once his defection was known.  Instead they argued, and talked long into the nights, discovering their differences and sharing their perceptions and knowledge of the current political situation.  He got the feeling that she held things back, but then again, so did he, thinking of their safety should they ever be caught together.  
  
Letters weren't sent often between the two, fearing their interception, but he did write to let her know when and where he'd be traveling.  Once Ancano met his unfortunate demise as Trina had predicted, he went to her at the college, under the guise of investigating his death.  They'd played their part well, avoiding suspicion and speaking only when necessary.  Ondolemar talked more to Tolfdir whenever eyes were upon him and only entered her quarters after taking an invisibility potion.  Cautious, some would say needlessly, but those people didn't know the wrath of the Thalmor.  
  
"So tell me about these humans you so love."  Ondolemar drawled in a lazy voice, laying against the pillow.  He was naked and flushed from their coupling, sipping on the only Nord mead he'd come to enjoy, the sweet Black-Briar Reserve that was made in especially small batches.  How Trina acquired it for their meeting he didn't ask, but Maven Black-Briar had gifted Elenwen with a few cases, which she snubbed and sent out to her commanders as gifts for good performance.  He'd received two cases recently in recognition of his efforts.  It was hardly the reward he would have gotten back home, but in Skyrim it was princely.  
  
Trina scrunched her face up at the inquiry, disliking how Ondolemar classified all humans together.  Arrogant as always and still far too close to the Thalmor way of thinking for her comfort, though she'd resigned herself to a slow change on that front.  Loving Ondolemar was much more complex than it had been the first time around, her own worldview expanded and deepened too much to just let him continue maligning humanity.  
  
"It's not about me telling you their virtues.  That's something you have to see, experience for yourself.  Though I doubt you will see the best of humanity if you go sweeping about the countryside of Skyrim in those awful Justiciar robes."  
  
She hadn't intended for her remark to be funny, but he laughed at the image it conjured.  "I suppose that's true.  As useful as they are for Thalmor business, they don't make the locals hospitable."  
  
"That's just it."  Trina pressed on, not laughing with him.  "The Thalmor use fear and antagonize the Nords.  And still the Nords are mostly decent to the Mer that live amongst them."  At this Ondolemar snorted derisively, thinking of the Dunmer in Windhelm.  There had to be a way to harness Ulfric's obvious racism to their advantage, though they had just to gain any foothold near the city.  His mind was wandering as Trina spoke, listening vaguely to her rant, shaking his head at appropriate times and sighing.  
  
"Even the Septim line interbred with the Altmeri."  She was making a point, leaving out the tiny, unimportant detail that Pelagius Septim, who was half Altmer, was fully insane.  Her fingers rubbed self-consciously at the new scar on her neck, which she hadn't gotten around to explaining to him yet.  As he'd kissed it earlier, all she'd muttered was ' _Damn that Mercer Frey to Oblivion_ ,' and he'd thought it best not to ask.  
  
"In fact, I think if we were just a married couple, in Skyrim, we would be mostly accepted by the locals.  We could move about freely and live wherever we wanted, but could humans do that in Alinor?"  She asked.  Ondolemar looked up at her, thinking on the question.    
  
As she'd spoken, she'd donned a heavy dressing gown to keep away the cold, covering herself but not bothering to put on clothes.  Her blond hair was in a messy plait that fell carelessly over one shoulder, the ends brushing the curve of her breast.  He admired his beautiful, idealistic lover, smiling at her as she sat at the end of the bed while he lounged against the pillows.  Except for their topic of conversation, it could have been a scene plucked from their engagement, when she would spend the night with him and change her clothes so she could rush home in the morning before her parents rose, meeting them at the breakfast table as if she'd been sleeping in her own bed all night.  
  
"No one would bother us, you think?"  He asked, lazily, his foot idly sliding across the skin of her exposed shin.  "Shall we put that to the test?"  
  
"What do you have in mind?"  Trina asked, her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Come to Markarth with me.  We can travel together and see just how friendly the Nords are to a couple of High Elves."  
  
"Alright."  Trina said.  "Challenge accepted."  
  
"We'll leave in a few days."  Ondolemar yawned.  "After I sleep some more."  
  
"Will your business here be done in a few days?"  
  
"You are my business here.  Nothing else really, though I am obliged to investigate Ancano and make a report."  Ondolemar sat up and reached out to Trina, extending a hand.  When she took it, he pulled her back towards the pillows with him.  The dim light of the room flickered around them, and he closed his eyes as she lay down next to him.  
  
"So what did happen to Ancano?"  She ventured, and he guessed she was wondering what he'd tell the Thalmor.  
  
"Tragic death by his own idiocy."  Ondolemar answered and she laughed softly, fitting herself against in the crook of his arm in her usual position, an arm draped over his chest as she curled into his side.  His last thought was about how comfortable he was, and that her hair smelled like snowberries and lavender.


	14. Incident on the Road

Together they set out from Winterhold, meeting up a ways down the road so they weren't seen leaving together. Ondolemar was seen sweeping out of the College, and she left not long after saying that she could no longer delay her departure now that the Thalmor Ambassador was gone. The only person who asked was Onmund, who was keen to come with her on an adventure, but she told him that she was sadly going back to deal with some of her duties as Thane, neglecting to specify in which Hold.  
  
For a time, Ondolemar feared that Trina was just being naive, that there was no way that they could possibly avoid trouble. But on the road they found little, save for the bandits and highwaymen that prey on all travelers, regardless of their race.  
  
Though he little liked sleeping in fields and burned out huts when they couldn't find an inn, Trina's fingers threaded within his own, the sight of her face bundled against the snow made it worth any inconvenience. It had been a long time since they'd been able to be out in the open together and he relished it, they freedom in the virtual solitude they found as they traversed Skyrim.  
  
Reluctantly, he began to see that Trina was correct in her assessment. On the road they met hunters and a wandering bard, and none of them mentioned the strangeness of meeting an Altmeri couple walking along the roads.  
  
"As much as it pains me, I'm beginning to see you were correct." Ondolemar said one evening. They had left the wintry reaches of Skyrim and were getting nearer to Markarth, which was a relief to both of them. He hated the snow.  
  
Trina grinned her response, kindly leaving out the 'I told you so,' that he was sure filled her mind. It was almost mundane, though breathtaking to walk around Skyrim with Trina. Seeing it through her eyes, talking to the people that all seemed to know her as the Dragonborn or by one of her other titles changed him. He worried a little about being seen together, but few of the Nords would ever recognize him, and fewer still would go to the Thalmor and report it.  
  
Though they stayed at inns, and he got the comfort of a bed from time to time, he couldn't shake the weariness brought on by days on the road, for Trina kept a punishing pace. Sometimes he'd watch her walking, looking at the road ahead of them, checking for threats, but lost in her own thoughts. He realized that this was how she'd survived for so many years, moving quickly, traveling alone and covering large distances. Whenever fools were daring enough to cross them, he fought at her side, his conjuration magic and her sword more than a match for their opponents. Fighting added a new dimension to their relationship - it was an exhilarating thing for him, especially hearing her use her dragon shouts. She was deadly, so much more powerful than he'd ever imagined, but controlled and taut, as if she couldn't bear to use any more force than she needed. The times they'd shed blood became the nights when they gave into passion out in the open, limbs wrapped around one another as they sated the raw carnality brought out by the thrill of battle.  
  
The night had just spread over the sky like ink spilled on parchment, blotting out the glorious burning red haze of the setting sun and filling the sky with a velvety blackness, the stars diamonds spread across it. They were still walking when they in the distance Ondolemar spotted a familiar sight, unwelcome enough to twist his guts and make him feel sick. Quickly, he pulled Trina off the road, hiding both of them behind a thick copse of juniper and pointed.  
  
"Thalmor Justiciars." He said in a hushed voice.  
  
She narrowed her eyes, watching as the elves in the distance drew closer. They had a prisoner, a human, with them.  
  
"I need to free him." Trina said at once.  
  
"Absolutely not. He's likely a Talos worshiper and those heretics are the reason we're in Skyrim."  
  
"Bullshit." Trina spat, tired of this debate. "What do you care who the Nords worship? We've always had different gods than they. The Thalmor are just practicing being oppressive and wanted a reason to come to Skyrim."  
  
Ondolemar had nothing to say to that, but he held tight to her shoulder, keeping her hidden with him. "I need to free him." Trina hissed, her eyes glowing dangerously at him.  
  
"I forbid you to kill any of the Thalmor."  
  
Trina wrinkled her brow, thinking quickly. "I can do it without killing anyone, if you trust me and promise to stay here, stay hidden and let me take care of this."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Positive." She said, and he nodded. To his utter surprise, she began to strip off her weapons and armor.  
  
"What are you doing?" He asked in a whisper, aware of how close the Thalmor was getting.  
  
"It's easier if I'm not wearing armor." She replied, but didn't say what was easier.  
  
Then before his very eyes she changed, growing taller morphing into something large and powerful. Hair sprouted from her body as her nose and face elongated to become a snout, her hands more like the savage claws of a wild beast. The air changed, filled with the pungent scent of dirty, feral dog fur and blood, of night and the heart of wilderness at its most untamed. Her frame was lupine and rangy, but she retained a twisted vestige of the poetic grace that guided her movements in her human form. Ondolemar sat mute with shock as the words formed in his mind to fit the scene before him. Trina was a werewolf. The fear he'd felt at the sight of the Thalmor multiplied, and he didn't know why, but he was suddenly more afraid of Trina than anything he'd ever encountered.  
  
In a daze, he watched her run over to the prisoner and swipe at his bonds, freeing his hands. A loud roar ripped from her, and she scared all of them away, sending the Thalmor scattering in one direction and the prisoner in another. An extra howl in the direction of the Thalmor seemed to ensure that they would scatter further from the prisoner, giving him more time to escape. It was all over so quickly, he could only watch, stunned and helpless, hiding behind the bush where he'd pulled Trina away from the road.  
  
Outlined in the moonlight, she looked like a hulking, massive beast in the middle of the road. Save for her breathing and the sound of running, scared footfalls dying as they fled as quickly as they could, there was no sound in the night. All the other animals had scattered, deferring to her as the superior beast, lending the countryside night an unnatural silence. Within minutes, he was watching agog as the transformation happened again in reverse, her features going back to the ones he recognized, as she shrank and became herself again. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Trina walked back towards him in her human form, no longer the beast, but a nearly nude woman, who bore no signs of what she'd just become.  
  
"I knew." Ondolemar whispered. "I knew you were different, but Trina, you were never, never this." He said, incredulity lacing his tone.  
  
"It's a gift." She said simply. "And I didn't kill the Thalmor as I'd promised."  
  
He didn't know what to say to her after that. Things were much less warm between them as they made their way back to Markarth. Nights that had once been easy and pleasant turned into arguments and ugly debates. Every problem they'd ever had came back to haunt them, and they dragged on, in angry, stilted silence until one or the other started their fights again.  
  
"I'll figure it out you know." Trina informed him.  
  
Ondolemar sighed. "What now?"  
  
"Why are the Thalmor are so intent on wiping out Talos worship? The Blades have a history of serving Talos and the Septim line, as guardians and priests. The Thalmor were so afraid of them, they wiped out all the Blades they could find before the war even started. It all seems a little suspicious, doesn't it?"  
  
"Think whatever you want." He said harshly, tiring of this argument, having heard it a few times over the last several days. Right now, he could only see all of their differences, they way they'd changed from the people they'd once were and he wondered if they weren't fools for thinking they could get that back, after everything. "I doubt I could explain it to you, since you've strayed so far from your heritage." He couldn't resist another shot at her for her lycanthropy.  
  
That she hid such a large part of herself from him bothered him more than he could effectively express. Dragonborn was one thing, she hadn't known until the Dragon crisis started, but she'd chosen to become a werewolf, and to conceal it from him, even after he'd risked himself to come to her.  
  
"I'm not going to apologize for what I am, but you should understand whom you're aligning yourself with. The Thalmor didn't save all of elvenkind during the Oblivion crisis like they said."  
  
"Enough!" Ondolemar held up a hand before she could go on to tell a story he'd already heard before. "We've miles to go and we'll just delay ourselves if we keep fighting." He was using the same voice he used to command his troops, one that tolerated no arguments and left no room for commentary. But Trina wasn't one of his soldiers and he heard her clearly tell him to go do something obscene with himself before stomping ahead of him.  
  
Ondolemar lifted his head to look up towards the raining sky, honestly and horribly conflicted, finding no solace in the grey expanse of clouds. His mind swam with too much information, and he hurt from the thought that Trina could keep such a large part of herself hidden from him. Setting his mind back on the road, he could only hope that things would become clearer once he was back in his routine in Markarth.  
  



	15. Fretting

Fretting wasn't something Trina did.  She was an action person, she took care of her problems before they grew into anything larger that an annoyance. Solving problems is what she did for a living, so it didn't bode well if she let her own fester.  After they'd returned to Markarth, Ondolemar left her side without a word and they hadn't communicated since.  It was all too easy to pack up and finish up business elsewhere, without bothering to inform Ondolemar. 

She'd let too much slide when she was with him, trying to recapture the happiness she'd once had.  She should have realized by now, happiness wasn't meant to be more than fleeting.  He weighed heavily on her mind, no matter how she tried to exorcise him from it.  At night, she wanted no one but Ondolemar, remembering his wide smile, and tenderness of his caresses.  Every memory now filled her with a jangling, unfinished feeling that always descended into sadness. 

But it wasn't that he didn't contact her that made her fret, though the lack of communication played into her feeling of unease, but it wasn't the main culprit.  No, it was what she'd just agreed to do for Delphine, sneaking into a Thalmor party that he was sure to be at.  He would try to stop her, she was sure of it.  After the way he'd reacted on the road, things were shifted between them and neither one had made any motion to make it right.

"I suppose that will have to do."  Delphine said as she came out dressed in the finery she'd procured for the party.  The outfit looked stupid on Maven Black-Briar, so Trina supposed there wasn't really a chance it would look good on her.

Into the carriage she went, fretting the whole journey, unable to keep her mind off Ondolemar and how what she was about to do would effect him.

During the weeks they'd spent apart from each other, she'd thrown herself into hunting dragons and making coin.  A return to Whiterun found her leaving almost immediately, taking as many jobs as she could, finding Jorrvaskr too confining once it was filled with her thoughts.  Outside the city walls, she traveled alone, thinking about the sad state of events that had unfolded since she'd woken up on that cart to Helgen.  It pained her to see how Skyrim suffered from the civil war, dividing neighbors and towns, families and friends.  Only her return to the monastery at High Hrothgar granted her any piece, fleeting as it was.  This beautiful land was being destroyed by more than just the Thalmor, though she couldn't turn a blind eye to their hand in it any longer.  When she rescued Esbern, she grimly killed the agents sent after him, carefully checking that each corpse wasn't Ondolemar.

Elenwen herself greeted Trina at the door, sweeping towards her in her robes.  She looked vaguely familiar and Trina supposed that she may have met her or a family member before, and idly wondered where she'd come from.  It was more than likely that Elenwen's position came from a combination of influence and prowess.

"I don't think we know each other."  The other Altmer woman said, not bothering to extend a hand, but nodding at her.

"I'm Trina."  She answered simply.

"Oh yes, I remember your name from the guest list.  It's your first time here, is it not?  I hope that you find it acceptable, though if you've ever lived in Alinor, you know how lacking accommodations here in Skyrim can be."

Thankfully, Malborn interrupted before she could say anything, and drew Elenwen away.  With a curt nod, she watched her hostess disappear around the corner.  She made to follow her, but another figure in hooded robes blocked her path.

"No, no, no, no."  She heard in a hissed whisper, coming from under the hood.  Trina turned her head to identify the voice a moment too late, she was being hauled, bodily forced up against a wall, around the corner where she'd just come from. 

Ondolemar was pinning her to the wall, and between him and the building, she couldn't decide which was more solid.  She'd feared he be here and closed her eyes, wondering why the Divines seemed bent on giving her gifts but not listening to her desires.

"What are you doing here, Trina?"  He asked in a fierce whisper, then shook his head.  "No, don't tell me."

"I'm doing what I have to do."  She answered in a pained, almost sullen voice.  There was no reason to even be speaking to him, it could blow her whole cover, but she felt like needed to have this talk, even if it ended with her broken heart.  Whatever was between them needed to be resolved after too many delays.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"Concerned?  I'm surprised."

"Don't be flip, Trina.  I don't want to see you die."  He admonished and then leaned in closer to her.  "I'll let you go, but I won't be able to protect you this time."

"Protect me?"  Trina almost laughed, but the seriousness in Ondolemar's green eyes halted her sarcastic laughter before it truly formed.  "You're serious.  You protected me before?"  The question settled between them, heavy and unanswered until she spoke again, realizing the truth in a whisper.  "Of course.  I was exiled, not killed.  Oh, Ondolemar."  Trina let her hands caress his chest, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know I won't dissuade you.  I'll do what I can for you, if it comes to that."  Ondolemar swallowed hard before adding in a rough voice.  "I love you, Trina."

"And I, you."  She leaned closer and whispered, "Meet me in Riften, after all of this." 

Without warning, his lips were against hers, bruising and needy, in a hard, desperate kiss, filled with the apology neither of them could voice.  She was just in danger of losing herself, of forgetting her purpose, when he backed away and gave her a curt nod, striding quickly away from where she stood against the wall. 

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she righted her party clothes and walked in, carefully avoiding Malborn's curious look.  At the party, she mingled properly, talking to the other guests, snickering to herself when Maven Black-Briar, dressed identically save for the ridiculous hat Trina wore, noticed her and then pretend not to know her.  She and Ondolemar were obliged to talk for appearances sake and they greeted each other formally, he slipping into his role for the Thalmor and she playing the curious outsider, but in the end she could involve him, didn't want to bring him further into her mess.

Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was more than willing to help her, and Trina got the feeling that the older woman knew that she was only at the party to cause trouble anyway.  As the Jarl started in about seeing snakes in the room, Ondolemar looked over at her once, and Trina could feel his eyes on her as she slipped away with Malborn, the rest of the room distracted.  Before she slipped into her smuggled in armor, she closed her eyes and hoped fervently that he wouldn't be one of those dispatched to come after her.


	16. An End and a Beginning

She'd been in Riften for weeks, for longer than she'd ever intended.  There were a few times when she'd had to leave, but had always rushed back, searching for Ondolemar.  Time was wasting, and duty couldn't be abandoned, so with a heavy-heart, when she could no longer prolong her visit, Trina departed.  She was tired of The Rift, and missing the mead hall of Jorrvaskr, wondering how her shield-siblings were doing, though she needed to be elsewhere within Skyrim.  Worry stalked the back of her mind, though the Thieves Guild contact in Markarth assured her that Ondolemar was still sweeping along the halls of Understone Keep, but she feared that he was being watching too closely to leave.  
  
Necessity had decreed it time to go, and on her last night at Honeyside, she heard a quiet knock on her door, at a late hour, far too late for it to be a social call.  She'd been up reading in bed, her light visible through the windows.  Trina froze at the noise, waiting to hear it, or another sound of her awaited visitor with desperate anticipation racing through her.  Iona, her housecarl, was downstairs sleeping in her room, and the night was still and calm, ruling out the possibility of wind.  She opened the door to find nothing outside, and wondered if he was hiding just around the corner, or out of sight.    
  
"Ondolemar?"  Trina whispered softly, but received no response.  A curious guard came by with a torch, not bothering to avert his eyes from her in her dressing gown.    
  
"Everything alright, Dragonborn?"  He asked.  
  
"Fine.  I just thought I heard a noise."  She said, before closing the door.  It had been nothing, just one of the regular bumps in the night, that she'd hoped was more.  Bitter disappointment seeped through her, filling her veins like poison.  She went back to her bed, setting aside her book and giving into the restless sleep that always plagued her.  
  
The next day she left Riften, setting out alone, heading towards Falkreath.  It was a long journey, but she needed to finish her business there, and the dreary town matched her awful mood. Lost in her own thoughts, she let her mind wander, and didn't notice the hooded traveler in the distance until he was nearly upon her.  
  
"You hadn't lost faith that I was going to come for you, did you my darling near-wife?"  Ondolemar's voice called out to her from under the heavy mage hood he wore, and Trina stopped dead, standing on the road.  He rushed to close the gap between them, taking her in his arms when he reached her.  
  
"I'm sorry it took so long."  He managed to get out between kisses.  Unbidden tears welled in her eyes, and she felt them fall.  Soon she was both kissing and crying, but mostly the later and she let herself go, the tears easing away the hard knot of worry that had formed within her for the last few weeks.  
  
"Are we alright now?"  He asked, tipping her chin up with a finger after she'd finished.  
  
"Yeah, we are."  She smiled at him and took his hand.    
  
"Where are we going?"  Ondolemar asked, walking with her.  
  
"Falkreath."  
  
"Do you think we could sneak across the border to Hammerfell and get married?"  He asked, only half-jokingly.  
  
"So you've come to ask for my hand again?"  
  
"Haven't we delayed it long enough?  I'd really like a marry you, unless you have some more secrets to tell me.  You aren't a vampire too, are you?"  
  
Trina laughed, but walked on.  "Not a vampire.  But married...that's something to think about once this war is over, and once I've taken care of Alduin.  I assume you'll be in Skyrim for a while?"  
  
He nodded.    
  
"Then there's no need to rush.  We've still got a lot of time to make up for."  Trina answered, leading him down the road to Falkreath.  
  
It was almost enough, knowing that he wanted to, that he would risk himself just to give her a pledge.  It couldn't be on a whim though, they had to take precautions, but the thought made her smile, and she felt lighter than she had in a long time, since he'd spent that week with her in Whiterun.  Ondolemar smiled at her, squeezing her hand in his as they walked down the road.  They had come so far since they'd left Alinor, but they still had miles to go.


End file.
